“You are shakum,” the waitress said after the usual hello-how-are-you at this great local restaurant in Mombasa as I sat down to have an early dinner.
“What? I am handsome?” you can’t fault me for confirming that.
“No, you are shay-king,” she clarified.
“Oh, acha, maybe,” I said, fearing the temperature might be coming back because of the stamina-proving exercise of walking on the streets and traveling in the buses for 24 hours straight.
I told her I’ll be alright, ordered the dinner, and asked if they had 7-up.
“Are you sure you want to have a cold drink?” she was genuinely concerned. When I told her that I can handle a cold drink, she looked at me with an expression that I can only describe as: “o poor boy, what are you doing to yourself.”
This is how the people of Kenya generally are, helping and concerned.